1027 



A 



THE FRENCH-CANADIAN 



IN 



PROSE AND VERSE 



^'' OITE OF A SERIES OF TWEtVE SPECIAI. LECTUBES FOKMINO A PAHT 
OF THE COURSE IN UTERATUBB 



WALLACE AMSBARY 

AUTHOR OF THE BAUADS OF BOUBBOMKAIS 



(non-resident instruction) 
CHICAGO 




Book f^S 2^ 



Copyright I>1"_ 



COPYRrCHT DEPOSIT. 



THE FRENCH-CANADIAN 

IN 

PROSE AND VERSE 



WALLACE AMSBARY 

AUTHOB. OF THE BALLADS OF BOURBONNAIS 



(self-instruction under expert guidance) 
CHICAGO 



%^ 



Copyright 1910 
LA SALLE EXTENSION UKTVEKSITY 



©CI.A2'61074 



ID" 1^0 1 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 

BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY 

This lecture discusses: French-Canadian dialect; courier du bois; humor; 
readings from Drummond, Amsbary, Mott; Illinois habitant settlement; construction 
of French-Canadian sentences ; early conditions in Canada ; Louis Riel ; list of books 
recommended to be consulted and read. 

Comparatively recent is the date which marks the pre- 
sentation of the French-Canadian in literature. The quaint 
characteristics of the courier du bois, voyageur and habi- 
tant, have furnished us many fascinating stories. His in- 
genuous manner, naive grace of speech, simplicity of tem- 
perament, form a character new and interesting. Placed 
in an atmosphere comparatively unfamiliar to the average 
American, there is a distinctive interest surrounding the 
stories of French-Canadian life as portrayed in the novels 
of Ralph Connor, Roland Robinson, Mrs. Catherwood and 
Sir Gilbert Parker; in the colorful artistic vignettes of 
Lawrence Mott, the poems of Dr. William Henry Drum- 
mond and in those incomparable sketches of out-door life, 
written by Dr. Henry Van Dyke, 

The speech of the French-Canadian contains an odd 
mixture of genders and tenses; strange idioms, vehement 
outbursts of French-English. Our neighbor of the North 
has a cheery, sanguine temperament that is easily excited, 
and he is very fond of fun. What he does not express in 
a splutter of vowels and consonants, he attempts to convey 
by shrugging of shoulders, and swinging of arms like irre- 
sponsible windmills — a sj^stem of calisthenics, by the way, 
which mounts to the dignity of eloquence. The dialect has 
a peculiar subtle attractiveness, the speech runs uncon- 
sciously into a delicate rhythm, expressive, naive, and is 
coupled with an ingenuousness that is irresistible in charm. 
He has little wit, but in humor he is rich, broad, and free 
from guile, in pathos, deep and tender. 



4 ^ WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY 

French-Canadian Dialect in Verse. 

It is. in the form of verse that the dialect has proven 
most popular. Its musical charm makes an irresistible ap- 
peal. The rich humor, the tender pathos, the simplicity, 
the ingenuousness of this interesting character, seems to 
broaden and expand into a discernible and delightful real- 
ity through the medium of metrical presentation. 

Dr. William Henry Drummond is the best known 
writer of French-Canadian verse. His propinquity to 
French-Canadian life has been a great factor in his suc- 
cess. He was bred on the folk-lore, so to speak. His pro- 
fession gave him unusual opportunities to get at the hearts 
of these people, and he has given us a varied, interesting 
and truthful view of them in their native surroundings. 
In Canada his work is highly esteemed, and the people hold 
him in reverence and love as we do James Whitcomb Riley. 

One thing that has endeared Dr. Drummond to the na- 
tive French-Canadians is the fact that he never ridiculed 
them. He was always their friend, and through the medi- 
um of his poetry did much to bring about a more tranquil 
feeling between the French and English of Canada, whose 
attitude towards each other has always been more or less 
strained. No doubt the cheery humor and big-hearted, 
whole-souled spirit, which was Dr. Drummond 's heritage 
from his Irish ancestry, together with his charming per- 
sonality, did much to bring about a better understanding. 

Most delightful of all, and indeed the best known and 
most popular of Dr. Drummond 's verses is "The Wreck of 
the Julie Plante," which we quote in full. 

THE WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE" 

A LEGEND OF LAC ST. PIEERE 

On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, 

De win' she blow, blow, blow. 
An' de erew of de wood scow "Julie Plante" 

Got scar't an' run below — 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 

For de win' she blow lak' hurricane 

Bimeby she blow some more. 
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre 

Wan arpent from de shore. 

De captinne walk on de fronte deck. 

An' walk de hin' deck too — 
He call de crew from up de hole 

He call de cook also. 
De cook she 's name was Eosie, 

She come from Montreal, 
Was chambre maid on lumber barge. 

On de Grande Lachine Canal. 

De win' she blow from nor'-eas'-wes,' — 

De sout' win' she blow too, 
W'en Eosie cry "Mon cher captinne, 

Mon cher, w'at I shall do ?" 
Den de Captinne t'row de big ankerre. 

But still the scow she dreef, 
De crew he can't pass on de shore, 

Becos' he los' hees skeef. 

De night was dark lak* wan black cat, 

De wave run high an' fas', 
W'en de captinne tak' de Eosie girl 

An' tie her to de mas'. 
Den he also tak' de life preserve. 

An' jomp off on de lak'. 
An' say, "Good-bye, ma Eosie dear, 

I go drown for your sak'." 

Nex' morning very early 

'Bout ha'f-pas' two — free — four — 
De captinne — scow — an' de poor Eosie 

Was corpses on de shore. 
For de win' she blow lak' hurricane 

Bimeby she blow some more. 
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre, 

Wan arpent from de shore. 

MORAL 

Now all good wood scow sailor man 

Tak' warning by dat storm 
An' go an' marry some nice French girl 

An' leev on wan beeg farm. 
De win' can blow lak' hurricane 

An' s'pose she blow some more. 



6 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBAKY 

You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre 
So long you stay on shore.* 

Other poems in the volume worthy of perusal are: 
^'When Albani Sang," and "De Notaire Publique." These 
are most excellent examples of his work, and in **Le Vieux 
Temp," he strikes the tender theme of home and the long 
ago. He brings the tinted shadows, and the rose-colored 
yesterdays to our view, and memory filters through the 
consciousness of the old habitant as he tells in a most de- 
lightful way the story of "the old time." This cheery 
writer will be heard from no more. He died in April, 1907^ 
and his loss is deeply felt by his friends and admirers. 

Illinois Habitant Settlement. 

On the banks of the Kankakee River, in the State of 
Illinois, is an interesting colony of French-Canadians, and 
in a humble way we have tried to make a contribution to 
the world of books, in an effort to reflect the temperament, 
the character and the dialect of these most interesting 
people. 

The Kankakee River serves, and was frequently used 
by the early voyageurs, as a short cut from Canada to the 
Illinois country. Father Marquette chose this route in the 
vain endeavor to reach Canada before he should die. La 
Salle, on its slow-drifting tide, made his second journey 
to the Mississippi, accompanied by Tonty, he of the iron 
hand and the warm heart. These stalwart Frenchmen have 
enriched the history and made sacred the waters of this 
beautiful stream. Farther Marquette was the first to bring 
the Story of the Cross into the wilderness. La Salle and 
Tonty, the intrepid chevaliers, soldiers of fortune, about 
whom cling many romantic traditions, were the forelopers 
of this mighty Empire, and carried the banners emblazoned 
with the fleur de lis, and in the name of Louis XIV, Grand 

•From The Habitant, by Dr. W. H. Drummond. Cop^. right, 1897. ITsed by 
special permission of the publisheiB, G. F. Putnam's Sons. 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 7 

Monarch of France, planted then on the banks of the Illinois 
River at Forts Saint Louis and Creve Couer. All unmindful 
of the signal honor and the historical association accorded to 
it by these great men, this river — from whose banks could 
have been seen the silhouettes of their grim, determined 
faces — flows on today, through redeemed swamp lands, now 
nestling close to wooded hills and quiet ravines, now 'neath 
the graceful spans of bolted steel and stone parapets, past 
cities, busy and populous, turning giant turbines, contribute 
ing to the world's work its full quota of power and useful- 
ness. Now and then an artist with easel and palette tries 
to transfix its beauty on canvas, and perchance the poet 
may find inspiration in its surroundings, noting in song the 
hopes and dreams of the quaint and ingenuous people that 
have found a home upon its quiet shores. 

As early as 1813 came Noel Le Vaseuer to the Kan- 
kakee Valley. He was voyageur, adventurer, courier du 
bois, engaged in swapping the glittering gew-gaws of the 
.white men for valuable lands, pelts and skins. Incidentally 
making eyes at a certain maiden of the Iroquois, who was 
known by the euphonious name of Watseka, and whom he 
afterwards married. Le Vaseuer was the first white man 
to settle in what is now known as Bourbonnais. Today it 
stands among fertile fields, with a back-ground of oak and 
walnut. From the railway a mile to the east, the preten- 
tious towers of St. Viateur's College and St. Catharine's 
Convent give it a modem look. In the village of six hun- 
dred, not one is American. Until recent years it was iso- 
lated from the outside world. Now the trolley has invaded 
its quiet life and taken away some of its native charm. 

In such an atmosphere have the ^'Ballads of Bourbon- 
nais" been evolved. They were written with the purpose 
of preserving, if possible, the dialect of the Illinois French- 
Canadian. It has been our aim to transcribe truthfully his 
quaint, interesting ways, and portray his open, free-hearted 
characteristics; let us get a glimpse of a certain phase of 



8 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY 

vanity which he sometimes manifests. As a rule, we have 
not much tolerance for conceit or egotism, but when we find 
it as in **The Captaine of De Marguerite," we smile at the 
unconscious self-appreciation which seems to individualize 
— in what we think an interesting way — this worthy sea- 
dog of the Kankakee. 

Keep in mind this fact, that the navigable stretch of 
water on the Kankakee River is limited. The stream is 
unchartered by the government, but there is a tradition 
that it is navigable from the town of Momence to the city of 
Kankakee. However, we get a better idea of it if we repeat 
the answer made by a Frenchman when asked this 
question: 

**How far is it, Jean, from here to Momence by boat?" 

*^Ah, M'sieu, dat ees a varree deeficul' questione you 
h'ask me to h 'answer you; but from here to Momence by 
boat ees 'bout twel' mile, but you got to walk half way." 

Let us listen to the Captain as he tells his own story: 

DE CAPTAINE OF BE "MAEGUEEITE" 

You vant to know who 'tis I am ? 

You're stranger man, I see; 
I don' min' tell to you som't'ing 

Concern' de life of me. 
My fadder's com' from Canadaw, 

'Long vit Pere Chiniquy, 
'Vay in de early fifty year. 

To Ian' of libertee. 
An' I am born here on de State, 

An' rose soon high to be 
De captaine of de Marguerite, 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

De people all is know me here. 

Ven I vent down de street, 
Vit moch respec' dey's bow at me, 

Venever dem T meet. 
De ladies call me "Captaine," 

De men is call me "Cap" ; 
De childern overe de hull place 

Dey's mos'ly call me "Pap" ; 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 9 

Fm "caracUre public/' dey say, 

Vatever dat may be, 
I'm captaine of de Marguerite, 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

An' ven de var is outbreak 

In de spring of nanty-ate, 
I grow so patriotique. 

An' I am so moch elate 
To haf de chance to go to front; 

I vill be brave, bold man. 
An' fight the Spanish grandee: 

But I'll fight not on de Ian'. 
I go upon de gentlemen 

Of var, I say to me, 
I'm captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

An' den I put de Marguerite 

In dry dock for avile; 
I gat me to Chicago town. 

My face is all on smile; 
Dey mak' recruit for navee dere. 

For seamen advertise; 
De officere he's dress lak' doode. 

Say I's mos' undersize. 
"Vat experance it is you haf. 

My man?" he say to me. 
Den I tol' him 'bout de Marguerite 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

An' ven he hear me all of dis 

He mak' de gran' salute. 
An' say he vill accept me — 

Mighty glad of dat to boot. 
Ven Messieu' Schley an' Sampson, 

De bossmen of de fleet, 
Vas know I Join de navee 

Vill mos' tak' dem off dere feet. 
All of dis talk I hear I t'ink 

Is gratify to me. 
As captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

An' ven ve're down on blockade. 

Off Cienfuegos Bay, 
I's man de boat dat cut de line 

Of cable vire dat day ; 
De bullets dey com' t'ick an' fas'. 

An' deaf he's com' dere, too. 



10 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBAEY 

An' in dat hell of fire an' smoke 

Vas awful how-de-do. 
It's di&evante from quiet tarn's 

Dan ven I go to sea, — 
I's captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

An' in dat Santiago fight 

I's cut op quite a dash ; 
I's on de Gloucester steamboat 

Dat is smash dem all to smash. 
Ve's mak' 'em scat like grasshoppear, 

Vit shell ve's mak' 'em bus', 
De Brooklyn an' de Texas vere 

Not in it at all wit' us! 
I's man behin' de gun, I's pull 

De trigger, don' you see ? 
Galant captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

An' ven de var is overe 

I gat honorab' discharge, 
I t'inks I now haf tam' to t'ink 

Of Eosalie LaFarge; 
Dat gairl she's twice refuse me vonce. 

But now dat I'm hero 
She'll t'ink about it two-t'ree tam' 

Before she let me go. 
She's glad I no mak' bait for shark 

Dat swim opon de sea. 
But still captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

At home dey meet me wit' brass-ban', 

Sky rocket ah' flambeau; 
Dey turn de town upside overe. 

At me de rose dey t'row ; 
I's ride in state to Cite Hall^ 

To me dey mak' a speak, 
I try to mak' von, too, but I 
- Gat mix op an' I steek; 

I's talk about de country dat I save 

An' 'bout de flag. 
An' den I sit me down again. 

For me I don' lak' brag : 

It's not become de hero man 
To talk an' speak so free. 

Nor the captaine of de Marguerite 
Dat sail de Kankakee. 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 11 

An' den dere vas de gran' banquay. 

To honneur me dey geeve, 
De maire an' all de council here 

In Kankakee dat leeve. 
Dey mak' a toas'^ I give von back ; 

Ve haf som' jollie fone; 
An' den ve sing an' laugh an' shout. 

Den de hull place ve ron ; 
Dey's fill me op vit cognac 

Till again I's on de sea, 
. Formere captaine of de Marguerite 

Dat sail de Kankakee. 

An' now I'm com' back from de var, 

I t'ink I's rose op high. 
If I keep on a-goin' op 

I'll gat op to de sky. 
Dey say I vas premiere factor 

In fight opon de sea. 

An' now ven I go dovm de street 

Here's vat dey say at me: 
De ladies call me "Admiral," 

De men is call me "Ad," 
De children overe de hull place 

Dey's lov' to call me "Dad." 
You see, from caractere public, 

I am exalt' to be, 
De Admiral Gran' of de hull fleet 

Dat sail de Kankakee.* 



• From ' * The Ballads of BourbonnaiB, * ' by Wallace Bruce Amsbaiy, Copy- 
right, 1904. 

By courtesy of the editors of Century Magazine, where poem was first published, 
and the Bobbs-Meriill Company, publishers of "The Ballads of Bourbonnais." 



12 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY 

Construction of French-Canadian Sentences. 

It is always the unexpected phrasing that brings the 
humorous aspect of life, and nowhere do we find a more un- 
usual construction than in French-Canadian sentences. 

For instance: 

''Do you know Joe Brook?'* I asked Lanctot, 

One day upon the street. 
'*I know two Joe Brook," said Lanctot, 

''But one of them named Pete." 

Again: 

"My name it ees Jean Peter Long 
But I'm called Long for short." 

Let us relate an episode of a French-Canadian,* who 
was, like many of us, more or less of a humbug, and who 
went about in his own way— not altogether ingenuous — to 
become master of his own house against the greatest odds. 
This little Frenchman has a wife who tips the scales to 
over three hundred pounds avoirdupois. He rules her with 
the iron hand of a tyrant, to the scandal of the entire neigh- 
borhood. One day he went to a merchant and asked for 
<jredit: 

"What is your name?" asked the merchant. 

"Touchette!" 
j "Jules Touchette?" 

"Oui M'sieu, Jules Touchette!" 

^'Well, Jules, I've heard of you, but not anything good. 
They say that you are cruel to your wife; that you ill-treat 
her." 

"You nevair see ma femme? Non? Well M'sieu, she 
weigh pret ' near three honred poun '. So beeg beeg womans 
you nevair see in h'all your life. Look now M'sieu, on me, 
behol'Inanty eight poun'! W'at chance I got? Bah! H'aU 
de tarn, I mak' beeg noise on ma maison — ^beeg bluff. I 

•youth's Companion. 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 13 

mak' eette femme h'all so scare' she rone away from little 
mans wit' beeg cross tongue. Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! Lak dat." 
*'M'sieu, I confide. For twanty year I be scare.' I 
be h 'agitate h'all on ma inside. I say, beware you Mon 
Petite Jules, des beeg womans — des grande femme — she 
can spank you like une petite gargon if only she know — 
and then I say Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! Wid all my courage, and 
she nevaire sospec' dat her Petite Jules — ^her little hus- 
ban' be h'all turn to skim milk on she's h 'inside." 

**M'sieu! I lak h'ask you une questione? Your wo- 
mans tink she be boss sometam'? Hein! Oui! All Madam 
he is lak dat. I tole you how to feex Madam: You mak' 
beeg scowl on your face; So! You rough op de hair; Sol 
You mak' your shoe pack come down strong h'on de floor; 
So! Den you feel op your lungs beeg wid wind lak de 
bellows in de blacksmith shop; So! And den you exclaim: 
Br-r-r-r-r-r! Br-r-r-r-r! Br-r-r-r-r-r! No matter how Madam 
he is beeg, such conduct will mak' her shrink with de scare, 
so dat she be so easy to handle as une petite gargon babee 
dat only weight tree poun'." 

We have already shown the lighter vein and more 
mirthful aspect of the French-Canadian, but there are 
loftier and nobler phases in his nature, and we have only 
to go to the illuminating and picturesque pages of Francis 
Parkman to get a broader and deeper view, for there is 
within him the fire — somewhat smothered — of the early 
Gauls and Franks, those virile progenitors from which he 
sprang, and in some instances the later admixture of native 
Indian blood, interwoven into the fiber of his being. He 
does not reach or in any way suggest the Homerian stand- 
ard of Achillian grandeur and poise, but nevertheless we 
find in him the stuff of which epics are made. 

Mary Hartwell Catherwood's novels have for their 
back-ground that colorful romance which is interwoven into 
the early struggles of the Jesuit Fathers. Marquette, 



14 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY 

Hennepin, and Joliet make noble figures in her tales. The 
adventurous spirit of Tonty, that honest, soulful, trusted 
lieutenant of La Salle, the romantic career of DoUard, the 
fortunes and misfortunes of the early French settlers in 
the Illinois country, the cruelties of Indian warfare, the 
winning of the middle western territory to civilization, are 
brilliantly presented with vivid realism. In some of her 
short stories she has contributed a true delineation of the 
modern French-Canadian, bringing out some of his more 
humorous aspects in sketches delightfully written and de- 
servedly popular. 

In the work of Dr. Henry Van Dyke, a note not 
sounded elsewhere is found. By a most simple art he brings 
us in contact with the elemental naivette of the denizens 
of the Northland. He describes the characteristics of the 
true hardy sons and daughters of the dense pine woods, 
the atmospheric charm of the Canadian wilds, where the 
pungent scent of spruce and hemlock and the pure air in- 
vigorates the body and stimulates the mind with a rare 
wholesomeness. The purity of nature is spread throughout 
his pages. His transcript of this life and its surroundings 
is vital and rings with a verity that is clear. 

One of the first to write French-Canadian stories was 
Roland Robinson, author of ''Danvis Folks" and "Uncle 
Elisha's Outing." We have read with delight the adven- 
tures of Antoine. Here we have the character placed in 
the environment of Northern Vermont, and many side- 
lights are brought out most interestingly by contrast to the 
shrewd New Englander. 

With unquestioned artistic skill does Lawrence Mott 
compel attention. His stories are convincing prose pastels, 
filled with a forcible poetic charm and beauty. His charac- 
ters are chiefly the French-Canadian Indians or half-breeds, 
wherein the blood of Frank and Gaul, Anglo-Saxon and the 
native North American meet, and his stories deal with that 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 15 

peculiar blending of temperament and race. One sees his 
men and women, real creatures of flesh and blood, moving 
among the giant firs and hemlocks, in and out of tepees 
masked in the green foam of spruce and cedar. One feels 
the breathless chill of the Labradorian winter, and with 
such realistic touch does he paint the whiteness of its 
snows that we blink our eyes and shut them for fear of the 
snow blindness. He dwells on the long nights which drearily 
drag, and the short days that bring only the comfortless 
view of leaden-hued skies. But in the monotony of hard- 
ships, relief is found in a warm tepee and a full stomach. 
Sometimes he tells of rosy-tinted hills that glow and blush 
in the last parting sunbeams, and of gliding purple shadows 
stealing over the frosted earth, of the storm that conquers 
and holds with a stern relentless grip the wide silent forest, 
helpless in the withering blast that only Boreas can blow. 
Of crude trading posts, silhouettes of brown stockades, 
stores, cabins, and warehouses cuddled under the blanket 
of frost. The Mounted Police, picturesque guardians of the 
law, add a touch of color to his vivid pages. Now a trapper, 
now a courier du bois animates the action of his theme, 
and humor spreads its anodyne of comfort through it all. 

By permission of the Century Company we print a 
selected portion of Chapter VI, "Jules of the Great Heart," 
by Lawrence Mott. Jules Verbaux is a French-Canadian 
trapper, a modem Robin Hood, considered an outlaw by 
the Hudson Bay Company, and treated accordingly. Slyer 
than a fox, brave as a lion, and passionate like his kind, it 
is not to be wondered that he is forever plunging into ad- 
venture, now eluding the vengeance of a Company official, 
now the fierce onslaught of a half-breed trapper, now bat- 
tling the fury of a winter storm. 



16 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY 

NOEL. 

Jules 's Christmas. 

It was the day before Christmas. Jules was sitting in his home camp, 
sixty miles from the post ; he was lonely and sad. "Las' Noel Ah have ma 
femme, la petite, touts; an' maintenant — " he looked about the bare little 
room, "bon Dieu, 'ow lonelee eet ees !" 

It was a cheerless scene. Walls of bare logs, with moss plugged between 
them to keep oilt the cold; a rude table; two misshapen stools; a bed of 
boughs in one corner, with some blankets heaped on it; a little chimney 
of small timber sticking out diagonally in another corner; and a few old 
clothes hanging on wooden pegs near the door. 

"Ah, b'en," Jules said to himself, "eet ees de will of le bon Dieu. Ah 
mus' mak' t'ink dat de wife an' de leetle vone aire veet' me for to-mor' 
jus' same." He became full of life with the thought, and bustled about 
the little hut, sweeping the hard ground with a spruce-bough broom; he 
carried out the old bed, and filled its place with fresh aromatic boughs; 
then he brought streamers of moss from the woods, and festooned them 
around the walls. In the corners he built little canopies of dark-green 
branches, and hung bunches of scarlet berries over the gray logs. 

"Dere !" he said, surveying his work, "dat mor' good ; de leet' vone she 
lak' dees comme ga !" and tears came to the gray eyes. He brushed them 
away hurriedly, and went out to a tiny shed behind the hut. There he dug 
a quarter of caribou-meat from the snow, and carrying it back, he cut 
thick, juicy steaks ; these he placed in a rough frying-pan, and set it on the 
table. From a hewn box he brought out a little bag of tea, some salt, and 
some hard bread. Then he drew the two stools up to the board. "Dere 
ees onlee two place' ; la petite she vant place too !" Taking the ax, he 
went out, and in a few minutes had made a high stool; this he also put 
beside the table. 

"Maintenant, Jules, go fin' somme present for dose two for Noel." 

The skies turned a darker lead-color; they seemed to threaten some- 
thing, and Jules said to himself as he traveled along, "De snow she comme 
ver' queeck !" and hastened on. Over hill and through valley he went till 
he came to his traps; luck was against him: trap after trap was empty 
and unsprung. He went all the way down this line, and not a skin ! He 
looked up at the heavens : it was snowing as ever ; the crystalline bits floated 
from their home in the clouds softly and noiselessly. There was no wind 
at all now, and Jules listened for something, he knew not what. Every- 
thing was silent; the spruce and pine stood like martyrs, bravely holding 
up the heavy masses of snow that the skies had poured on them. Some- 
times a branch would rebel and drop its load with a swish; as it flew back, 
relieved, it seemed to jar on the stillness of everything, until it ceased its 
swaying and became quiet as the rest. 

Hf * ^ Ht Hf 

He went on and on. "At las' !" he said as he came to the first trap 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 17 

on ligne five. A fine marten lay under the deadfall, its sleek hair smoothed 
close to the little frozen body; the eyes were open and stared glassily on 
Jules as he lifted the heavy stick and put the stiff form in his bag. "Merei, 
bon Dieu!" whispered Jules, as he found almost every trap with its little 
victim dead and frozen. The line led through a deep ravine, and Jules's 
eyes gleamed when he came on a heavy trap. A big black fox lay dead 
in it; the massive log had crushed out the life God had given. On the 
crust were pitiful scratches where the poor beast had tried frantically to 
pull away from the awful weight that tortured it. "Ah-ha! Dat mag- 
nifique!" said Jules aloud, as he lifted the fall and drew out the long, 
sinuous body. The heavy black coat was glossy and thick; the under hair 
seemed to reflect darkly the faint light that came from the leaden skies. 
"La petite up dere" — Jules looked at the heavens as he spoke — "she ver' 
content wid dees.'' He turned, and started for home. 

It was snowing harder, and his down tracks were only dimly discernible 
through the opaque cover over them. The wind was coming slowly; a 
murmur rose and fell weirdly in the forest; the trees moved, bowed to one 
another, and shook off their white dress. Out on the barrens the drift 
was whirling along, mingled with the fresh fall, and Jules's snowshoes 
clicked with a deadened sound as he hastened on. A herd of caribou 
crossed before him, their hoofs rattling faintly as they raced on with the 
wind. They came, and were gone in a few moments, wrapped in the 
clouds of snow-dust which their fast-moving feet stirred from its resting- 
place on the crust. Jules stopped at the edge of a timber patch, and ex- 
amined marks at his feet, not long made. "Vone, deux, free, five snow- 
shoe !" he said grimly, and swung off to the left. He went on carefully, 
listening every now and then; nothing but the whispering of the wind 
in the tree-tops answered his quest for sound. The hut was close by now ; 
the tracks he had seen five miles back had disappeared, so Jules approached 
with a pathetic gladness in his heart. "Jules goin' have Noel jus' same !" 
he said, and then he sang a French Christmas song as he saw the clearing 
in the distance. 

"Oh, Dieu ! Oh, Dieu !" His little song died suddenly. He had reached 
the clearing where his hut had stood; in place of it a heap of smoldering 
ashes met his eyes — gray, dull-red, black, and smoking. Gone ! All gone ! 
The home camp, with its little Christmas trimmings, its strings of moss, 
its table, its pitiful high stool — all gone, and a mass of ashes remained 
in their place. Their smoke twined slowly upward into the trees and dis- 
appeared in the wide, wide air above. Silence — infinite silence! A faint 
spluttering now and then as the cold snow quenched the hot embers; be- 
yond this stillness, solitude. 

Jules stared with heavy eyes, a tearing pain at his heart, which beat 
thickly and fast. A split of pine caught his sight; on its white surface 
was roughly traced, "Bon Noel, Verbaux. — T." That was all. Many 
intertracing snow-shoe tracks showed how the poor little home had been 
destroyed. An apathetic mood controlled Jules. He looked at the rem- 
nants of his Christmas shelter with drooping eyes. "Oh, Dieu ! Bon 
Dieu !" he repeated over and over again. Then he changed swiftly ; a 
blaze of anger came to the gray eyes, and his muscles heaved and surged 
under the caribou jacket. "Sacre-e-e-e !" he growled ; then fury interrupted 



13 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBABY 

the words, and only inarticulate sounds came. "Jules Verbaux he goin' 
show to you hall vat he do for dees !" 

He turned and struck off rapidly to the westward. * * * Twenty, 
thirty, thirty-five miles had come and gone, but Jules sped on. Then day- 
light with its dim gray appeared, and broadened over the white wastes ; the 
flakes came from farther up in the lowering skies, always whirling, rac- 
ing down. 

At last the post buildings stood before him, dimly visible through the 
screens of white. * * * The roofs were covered deep with a white coat, 
and the tepees outside the stockade were mounds of snow with only the tops 
of the poles visible. Jules went round the clearing, keeping under cover 
of the timber, and came up behind the store. Within all was gaiety and 
laughter; through the window-panes he saw the children and the women 
dancing about a little spruce-tree, whose branches scintillated with Christ- 
mas candles, and beneath which were cakes and presents tied with colored 
caribou-thongs. Triton, Le Grand, Le Bossu, Dumois, old Maquette, and 
all the other trappers were there, standing in a circle round the tree. The 
factor, his red face shining with perspiration, was making speeches and 
giving presents to all. 

"Jules goin' feex yoti touts!" he snarled, and quickly gathered dry 
wood and limbs and piled them against the logs of the 'store wall; he 
went off, and brought other heaps, and placed them against all the post 
buildings, where the wind should catch the flames the best and hurry 
them on to their work of destruction. All was ready. Verbaux lighted 
a match and held it under the wood-heap at the store; the bit of 
^ine flared and went out. He struck another; it too flashed, then 
the wind put out its feeble blaze. Jules stopped, thought, and looked 
in the window again. The children were opening their parcels, and 
screaming with delight at the little toys and knickknacks that ap- 
peared. Gradually his eyes softened. "Ah had leetle papoose — vonce; 
she vould lak' dat!" he said, and the tears came again to the deep eyes, 
and coursed unhindered down the bronzed cheeks. The snow fell against 
the panes, and dimmed his view of the interior, but the cheery Christmas 
candles shone blurredly through the mist. 

"Ah no goin' do dees !" he said huskily. "No hurrrt vomans an' leetle 
vones; she vould not lak' for me to do eet. Have good Noel, enfants! 
Mes petits, geeve merci to le bon Dieu. Somme taime, Triton, Ah feex 
you ! Ah, enfants, have plaisir ; t'ink somme taime of Verbaux, halone, 
seul, hongree, wid'out home, wid'out anyzing in de fores' an' la tempete." 
He looked wistfully at the warm, happy scene within, then turned abruptly 
away and disappeared across the clearing silently, hidden by the ever- 
falling quantities of snow. — From "Jules of the Great Heart," a novel by 
Lawrence Mott. Copyrighted Century Company, New York, and pub- 
lished by permission.* 



* From "Jules of the Great Heart," by Lawrence Mott. Copyright, 1905. By 
courtesy of the publishers, the Century Company. 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 19 

It is in the work of Sir Gilbert Parker that we look for 
the interpretation of the dramatic side of French-Canadian 
character. He has chosen principally as his field that great 
Empire of God's out-of-doors, surrounding Hudson's Bay, 
which swings its wild line of forest and plain from the icy 
shores of the Arctic to the stern, forbidding brows of the 
Rockies. That vast dominion of whispering pines and 
lonely plains, that strange blending of barbaric beauty and 
desolation, uncurbed, majestic, sinister. Its serene gran- 
deur and commanding solemnity make it a splendid setting 
for legend, song and story. 

Early Conditions in Canada. 

Until 1870, the Hudson Bay Company practically ruled 
all that territory stretching from the 50° parallel to the 
Arctic Ocean. With its history of over two hundred years 
of exploitation, pushing its commercial supremacy with 
forts and trading posts far beyond the Arctic Circle, this 
region is almost as primitive today as when the first courier 
du bois and voyageur pushed their intrepid feet into its vir- 
gin snows. There were no castles to storm, but the courage 
and valor of sturdy knights were needed to conquer the 
almost impregnable fastness. No richer mine of literary 
gold is extant. The entire region teems with color, adven- 
ture, and the stimulating atmosphere that goes to make 
romance and song. 

To the South, along the Saskatchewan and its tributary 
valleys, is seen the developing hand of civilization. The 
miracle of wheat and barley fields covers the floor of its 
once trackless plains. Railroads have spread their ribbons 
of steel, and luxurious Pullmans bear the traveler today in 
cushioned ease over its wide and fertile acres. But to the 
north of this outer strip of civilization, 'way beyond the 
edge of things, nature had been imtrammeled for a million 
years. Then came a time when its rampant anarchy and 
unharnessed freedom had to be conquered, and the contrast- 



20 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY 

ing elements in the battle of the strong, the weeding out of 
the weak, and never ending succession of events contribu- 
tory to the mighty drama of life in its intensity, has a most 
picturesque surrounding in the plains, the woods, and 
mountains of the great Northwest Territory. 

- And what of the human actors ; the poor blind spinners 
whose daily life is interwoven into the warp and woof of 
this crude environment, weaving the design that destiny 
or circumstance had but lightly traced, the refining atmos- 
phere of home but a dim memory. Conscience asleep, the 
social ties unloosed. Truly they form a heterogeneous con- 
glomeration of cosmopolitan humanity. Indians and China- 
men, natives and half-breeds, gamblers and cow-punchers, 
human derelicts, and some of God's forgotten saints and 
sinners. Collegians with the glow of adventure in their 
robust souls. "Remittance men," irresponsible time serv- 
ers, awaiting their periodical allotment, incidentally frivol- 
ing away their worthless lives in recklessness and dissipa- 
tion. In this crowd we find an intermingling of good and 
evil, of virtue and immorality, of strength and weakness, of 
heroism and cowardice ; in fact, life in its elemental abandon 
and crudity, raw and stripped of vesture; all of which 
brings to mind Kipling's famous phrase: 

''There's never a law of God nor man. 
Runs north of 53°." 

Moving through this bizarre society is the native 
French-Canadian. Most interesting, because the most hur 
man. Among other saving graces he possesses a sense of 
humor, which contributes much to the salvation of any man 
or race. 

Louis Riel. 

While in the city of Winnipeg some years ago, remem- 
bering that Louis Riel slept under the sod in the parish 
churchyard at St. Bo^Qiface, I resolved to go and stand by 
his grave and carry away a mental picture of his last rest- 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 21 

ing-place. I had been interested in Ms life, and had fol- 
lowed closely the splutter he and his followers had made 
upon the pages of Canadian history, had read of his tragic 
end. The misguided man was a French-Indian. Within 
his soul was a weakened remnant of that spirit which had 
moved his forefathers to great and noble deeds. His an- 
cestors had been vanquished, their 

** Heads bloody but unbowed," 

in that final dispute on the Plains of Abraham, when Wolfe, 
the besieger, and Montcalm, the besieged, paid toll with 
their life's blood, the one in victory, the other in defeat. 
Poor Kiel! his spirit was never vanquished, though his life 
was forfeited. By some he is called **rebel." Though deep 
within the consciousness of many others his name is spelled 
*' patriot." But by whatever name you are pleased to caU 
him, he was the central figure in the last drama played for 
the banners of New France. A drama that had the Arctic 
Circle for a back-ground, the vast sweep of the northwest 
plains for the scene of action, the world for an audience, 
and as denouement the curtain falls at Regina; where, sur- 
rounded by Northwest Territorial Mounted Police, he was 
hanged for high treason. 

It was a chilly day I had chosen to visit his grave, and 
as I walked across the bridge which separates the Mani- 
tobian capital from the parish of St. Boniface, a stiff gust 
of October wind blew off my hat, and had it not been for the 
agile grasp of a brown-eyed half-breed it would have fallen 
into the river. He of the swarthy skin turned toward me 
and smiled, showing two rows of white teeth, set as even as 
pearls in a necklace. Bowing graciously, he said: 

"C'est voutre chapeau, M'sieu!" 

I did not know him then, but had the incident occurred 
today, I should have responded quickly: **Merci, boucoup 
mon Pretty Pierre," for surely it was he, the prototype of 
that handsome, delightful, delicious, Pretty Pierre, whom 



22 WALLACE BRUCH AMSBAEY 

Sir Gilbert Parker has, with the deft fingers of fancy, 
moulded into a personage of real flesh and blood — a little 
reprobate whom we have learned to love in spite of his un- 
conventional life and questionable occupation. Parker 
describes him in this way: "Pierre was a gambler; unlike 
the majority of half-breeds, he had the pronounced French 
manner, nonchalant and debonair. The Indian in him 
gave him coolness and nerve. His cheeks had a tinge of 
delicate red under their whiteness, like those of a woman; 
that was why he was called Pretty Pierre. When I started 
him on his travels I did not know how far or wide his ad- 
ventures would run. His faults are not of his race, nor 
were his virtues; they belong to all people. '* 

In a tragic episode of frontier life which is revealed in 
a sketch called "Three Outlaws," we have the acme of Par- 
kerian art. A deep moral underlies this most intense tale, 
and the clever use of a bald and hackneyed theme brings us 
in close touch with the crude civilization, the wildness of 
that free life, not altogether without chivalry, honor and 
virtue. Justice is meted out to a sinner in a stern relentless 
manner. Pretty Pierre enacts the role of Nemesis, and 
when the climax of this tense drama has been reached, he 
is big enough to say of the vanquished: 

"Well, he was not all coward; No!" 

However ihadequately presented, we hope that herein 
enough has been said which may serve to further stimulate 
an interest in this refreshing field of literature. The partial 
bibliography presented below will no doubt aid those in 
perusal of this dehghtful theme and, after reading the 
books recommended, the student will find himself better ac- 
quainted with the interesting character of the French-Cana- 
dian, who has added much that is worthy to the humor, 
romance, and poetry of American literature. 



CANADIAN PROSE AND VERSE 23 

BOOKS RECOMMENDED TO BE CONSULTED AND READ. 

Mary Hartwell Catherwood. 

Romance of Dollard — Century Company. 
Lazarre — Bobbs-Merrill Company. 
Tonty — ^Harper & Bro. 
Mackinac Tales — ^Harper & Bro. 

Ralph Connor. 

The Prospector — Fleming H. Revell & Co. 
Black Rock— Fleming H. Revell & Co. 

Dr. Wm. Henry Drummond. 

The Habitant — Gr. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and 
and London. 

Johnny Court eau — G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York 
and London. 

The Voyageur — G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and 
London. 

The Great Fight, with Memoir— G. P. Putnam's Sons, 
N'ew York and London. 

Sir Gilbert Parker. 

When Halmond Came to Pontiac — Harper & Bro. 
Right of Way — ^Harper & Bro. 
The Chief Factor — Harper & Bro. 
Pierre and His People— Harper & Bro. 

Francis Parkman. 

Any of his books of American and Canadian History. 

Roland Robinson. 

Danvis Folks — Houghton, Mifflin Co. 

Uncle 'Lisha's Outing — Houghton, Mifflin Co. 



24 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY 

Dr. Henry Van Dyke 

The Ruling Passion — Scribner's. 

Wallace Bruce Amsbary. 

The Ballads of Bourbonnais — Bobbs-Merrill Company. 
(With 100 drawings by Will Vawter.) 



QUIZ QUESTIONS. 

1. Give some characteristics of the French-Canadian. 

2. Name two authors who have portrayed French-Cana- 

dian life. 

3. How does the French-Canadian express himself? 

4. Discuss Dr. W. H. Drummond as a writer of French- 

Canadian verse. 

5. What historical memories are associated with the Kan- 

kakee River'? 

6. What are the structural peculiarities of the French- 

Canadian sentences 1 

7. Upon what back-ground does Mary Hartwell Cather- 

wood sketch her novels 1 

8. Describe the charm of Dr. Henry Van Dyke's stories. 

9. Name two stories written by Roland Robinson. 

10. Describe the characters which Lawrence Mott portrays 

in his stories. 

11. What author has interpreted the dramatic side of the 

French-Canadian character? 

12. What does Kipling mean by the words : 

' ' There 's never a law of God nor man, 
runs north of 53°." 

13. Can you tell anything about Louis Riel? 

14. Who was the author of the "Three Outlaws"? 



